He turned over, but I punched him persistently until he sat up.
“What the deuce ails you, Davy?” he asked, rubbing his eyes. “Have you nightmare?”
“Do you know a place called Clam Shell, down on the river bank, Nick?”
“Why,” he replied, “you must be thinking of Cram's Hell.”
“What's that?” I asked.
“It's a house that used to belong to Cram, who was an overseer. The niggers hated him, and he was killed in bed by a big black nigger chief from Africa. The niggers won't go near the place. They say it's haunted.”
“Get up,” said I; “we're going there now.”
Nick sprang out of bed and began to get into his clothes.
“Yes.” He was always ready for a game.